A Trail of Petals
by ScarletBrambles
Summary: Ib escapes without Garry in the 'Forgotten Portrait' ending. However, it's not an ending, not even close. What happens when Ib returns to the twisted gallery years later? She slowly regains her past memories as she searches for the friend she left behind. IxG
1. Prologue

Ib: A Trail of Petals

Prologue

"Well… hmm… Wanna trade Garry's rose?"

It was as if the chaotic world around them had stopped to gape in shock. A thick silence enveloped the room at bottom of the toy box, broken only when the sound of her footsteps walking a few paces forward echoed. She knew what had to be done, even her elementary-school mind could comprehend the situation. It was her fault for not taking care of her rose. _'If the rose withers, you too will wither away… know the weight of your own life.' _She had been given enough warnings by the gallery and the shaggy-haired man now standing behind her. There was no way she was going to drag Garry, her dear friend, into this.

As the crimson-eyed girl began to shake her head in refusal of the offer, a long arm wound around her, pulling her back into a warm chest while the other held out a healthy blue rose. "Deal," He spoke lowly, and before Ib could protest, the young golden-haired girl who was actually just a hate-filled work of art brought to life snatched the rose out of Garry's hand and sprinted off laughing about the color blue. Ib spun out of the man's embrace and stared at him, feeling the pricks of approaching tears. Her eyes screamed for answers but her tongue was too shocked to form words.

He stepped forward and picked up her red rose left on the floor that served as payment and handed it to her. "Take care of it, ok?" At the young girl's wounded look he added, "Hey, don't feel bad. We'll go get my rose back from that deranged girl!" Seeing the lighthearted hope in his strikingly violet eyes steeled her crumbling emotions. They _will_ get Garry's rose back from that awful painting-child Mary and They _will _leave this twisted gallery, _together._

Ib grabbed her close friend's hand and ran in the direction Mary had gone, breaking into a full sprint when the once-stationary dolls and statues littered around the room began to give chase. Garry spotted a stairway and dragged her sideways to it where they pushed through two large, red-eyed blue dolls and ascended from that pit of demons. Their running slowed to a walk in the long hallway when it was obvious there was nothing chasing them anymore.

Ib and her companion stopped to catch their breath. As she turned, a smile spreading across her features, ready to tell Garry how _'we sure showed them', _the sentence died on her lips along with the smile. They both stared down at two bruised blue petals lying on the ground. "… Is that-Urg!" His question was cut off when he knelt and clutched his stomach, pain twisting his features. Worry clutched at the young girls heart. She crouched next to him, allowing him to fall into her small arms rather than the hard floor and gently assisted him in laying his back against the wall, wary of his intense discomfort. Before she could ask what was going on a voice rang out through the hallway.

"He loves me. He loves me not. He loves me. He loves me not!" Mary's voice echoed in a sing-song tune.

Ib froze. She knew this game, the girls in the school yard used to tease the boys with it. You would determine if the one you had in mind loved you by… _plucking off the petals of a flower one by one_. Dread dropped like a ball of ice in the young girl's stomach as she listened to the blonde sing her song. Holding Garry's hand, she closed her eyes and flinched with him every time a statement of love was made, unable to do a thing.

"Oh! He loves me! Hehehe!"

Once she knew Mary had finished her game, She quickly opened her eyes to check on her beloved friend. His face was sweaty and pale. In desperation, she placed both of her hands on his cheeks, forcing him to look at her with the strength he had left. "Don't… Don't leave me." Ib whispered, tears beginning to flow from her eyes for the first time since being caught in this strange gallery. A warm hand caressed her cheek and smeared her tears. "Hey," He smiled weakly "Don't you dare give up on me Ib. You're strong and brave." The violet-eyed man let out a small wheeze in effort. "Go on ahead. Defeat Mary and I promise I'll catch up to you, ok? I just need to rest…" His eyes fell closed and his hand dropped limply from the promise he had just sealed by linking his pinky with hers.

Her heart shattered, everything seemed to be going haywire in her mind in one moment, as if all the emotions were cramming together in a small, tight box then rushing out again. Her eyesight couldn't focus as tears blurred her vision, making the dim hallway twist and turn, coiling like a snake.

_Smack._

Ib lowered her hand from the now sore spot on her cheek. Thoughts once jumbled began to straighten out, form solutions, and shut down unnecessary emotions. Standing, she took one last glance at Garry's unmoving form. _'He promised. He's just resting. He promised.' _The sentences just repeated over and over in her head as she walked the remainder of that hallway and up the staircase waiting at the end.

Her body and mind felt numb as she stared at the barren stalk of what used to be a beautiful, shining blue rose. It was just left in a puddle of bruised petals waiting to meet the young girl at the top of the stairs. Looking around the room she noticed the toy chest that once sat in the center had been replaced by another set of stairs leading up into an attic of sorts. Only one problem, they were blocked by vines laced with thorns. With her head still fuzzy, she searched the small room for anything useful to pry the vines out of the way. Leaning down to check under a small end-table holding an open book and feather pen, something fell out of the pocket in her skirt. Lifting up the small metallic box, Ib recognized it as Garry's lighter, he must have slipped it in her pocket earlier.

Holding his possession in hand caused tears to spring to her eyes again, withering away the capacity to think properly. She numbly walked back over to the wall of thorns and began to flick the small switch on the dear item held within her grasp.

Ib had shut down, blocking out the twisted world, hardly noticing the climb up the now open stairway, or the way Mary shouted at her to leave as she entered what seemed to be the fake girl's room here in the attic, or said girl's screams of agony when Ib burned down the picture she was born from using the very lighter of the precious person Mary took from her. _'No,'_ She stopped herself as She stared at the ashes of a fake girl who used to be called a friend. _'He promised he'd catch up with me.'_

Only did The crimson-eyed girl come to her senses when she entered what seemed to be a dark and corrupt version of the gallery back home. Quickly, she ran to the back of the top floor in the gallery, hoping that it was there. Her prayers were answered when she skidded to a halt in front of "The ? World" painting. She still didn't understand the meaning of that one word but when the frame around the work of art disappeared, signaling a passage, she couldn't care less. Once prepared to jump through the gateway, a familiar voice froze her dead in her tracks.

"… Ib!"

The man she had longed to see most arrived right on time. Garry was panting and out of breath but quickly composed himself and stood straight, although he made no move to embrace her as she so wanted him to. "I was looking for you! You went off on your own! Sheesh… I was worried." Something wasn't right. Garry hadn't spoken with the same warmness as usual, and he didn't radiate that hope and security. "Anyway Ib, I think I found an exit!" Her red eyes slid toward the mural next to them, still glowing with light. Garry's gaze followed her own and seemed to understand, "It's not here, It's over there. Wanna go check it out?" His face erupted into a smile as he reached for her hand to lead her away from "The ? World".

Ib snatched her hand away. Something was very wrong. This wasn't the same man she had met in the corrupted gallery. It wasn't the same man she had gone through so many life threatening situations with. Nor was it the same man who gave her candy after her nightmare and cared for her. He wasn't the man who was clumsy and cowardly yet gentle and compassionate. And he most certainly was not the man that Garry is.

Before the illusion cast by the dark gallery could reach for her hand again, she was already jumping through the massive colorful painting, heavy tears staining her cheeks.

* * *

**Disclaimer: I do not, and will not ever own Ib. **Sadly.

**A.N.**  
Ok guys! It's my first fanfic so don't hit me too hard. Constructive criticism is welcome though!  
I'll hopefully get the next chapter out soon, but while I'm at it, why don't you hit the little button at the bottom that says 'Review'?

Please, please, please give IbxGarry a try, I know it's weird to wrap your mind around because of the age but I promise I'll make it work.

~Scarlet


	2. Chapter 1

Ib: A Trail of Petals

Chapter 1: "You don't remember what you were doing…"

The buzzing sound was getting on her nerves. Reaching out of the soft confines of her warm bed, a fist crashed down onto the snooze button of the offending machine. However, it was too late. The loud noise that blared from her alarm clock had already woken her up. She mourned over her course schedule and how early it was as she dragged herself out of the warm confines of her sheets. Why must speech class be so early in the morning? Frankly, the student hated the class, and not just for its early timing. She had always been a rather quiet girl, her parents of course, took notice of this. They began to push her into social outings of any sort throughout her middle-school and high-school years. It wasn't as if her parents were bad people, just very one-sided when it came to opinions. So when Ib decided to pursue art as her major in college, her parents immediately requested that the take a speech class as well. She shrugged it off as another of their misunderstandings and obliged. It wasn't as if she was antisocial, the crimson-eyed girl was actually quite well-known and liked, she just preferred to keep to herself at times.

After weighing the option of just skipping class, she decided the professor wouldn't miss her too badly and unplugged her alarm clock before retreating back underneath the covers. It only took a few moments before her high maintenance brain was falling into the fog of sleep once more, carrying her through the world of her dreams.

Colors splattered across the back of her eyelids, painting the unclear image of what she now made out to be an art gallery. Having lived this same dream many times over, Ib had been able to analyze and make assumptions regarding her surroundings. The walls were all white, like that of some sort of a gallery. The fuzzy, unfocused, square blobs of mixed colors and patterns that hung on the walls only fueled the belief of it to be an art gallery. However, everything was vague. She couldn't make out a single piece that was familiar to her in her vast knowledge of art acquired from her studies. This same dream had disturbed her sleep for as long as she could remember. Therefore, she knew its content through and through.

The familiar tug of some unknown force led her through the gallery as it usually did. The crimson-eyed girl followed faithfully and without delay, for she had stopped trying to explore the blurred gallery and its exhibits long ago. Across the hall and up the stairs, that was the usual route to her destination. She passed that which she assumed would be a window if her vision was focused and continue straight a few more steps until the tug tightened and stopped all together. The rest of the blurry gallery faded as she turned to look at the one portrait she wished with all of her heart that she could make out. The young woman squinted, attempting to get her eyes to focus on the blurry clash of blues and purples that lay before her.

Then, her dream derailed.

It broke from its usual path and began to bring the image into focus. Her narrowed crimson orbs widened in complete shock. The work of art that had taunted her since she was nine years old was slowly revealing itself. A noise broke through the silence of her mind.

"_Ib! Ib!"_

The image before her shattered, leaving only a glimpse of a human figure before its shards faded. A glimpse, which she burned into her memory for later inspection.

"Ib! Ib com'on! Open up, would ya?"

Her name being called loudly from the other side of her apartment door accompanied by the harsh banging that followed snatched the young woman from her subconscious. "Dammit, Alex!" She huffed under her breath, shoving the covers off of her body and swinging her legs off the bed to meet the carpeted flooring below. "Hey, Hey! Quit making a racket I'm coming!" She called to him after another set of abuse to her door.

She made her way across her average sized apartment. Ok, it was small, but it was equipped with all that she needed. It had a bed, a kitchen, dining table for two, a closet, a bathroom, and room for her desk right by the window. In her opinion, it was all a junior in college could ask for with the paycheck she got every week.

The second her fingers flicked the deadbolt, her door shot forward. Ib skillfully dodged the offending piece of wood, being used to its attacks by now. The source of her current annoyance and oncoming headache rushed into her home directly after the door, causing her to heave a sigh. "Could you maybe _not_ knock down my door every time you come over?" The perky ashy-blonde, young man flashed her a grin as he shut the door behind him. "It's not like you'd wake up unless I raise a little hell in the hallway." She rolled her eyes and made her way to the kitchen to make a quick meal since she slept through breakfast. Her guest took a seat at her dining table, completely comfortable with his uninvited visit. _'Then again, they never are planned.' _She thought irritably, but took a breath and decided to forgive him; she could never stay mad at the guy for long.

His voice cut through her thoughts and paused her cooking, "You should probably get dressed, you know, we have class soon." Noticing his obvious dislike for her oversized blue shirt and matching sweatpants, she smiled. "I'm never throwing it out you know, this is my favorite pair." The crimson-eyed girl gestured to her choice in sleepwear. She ignored his huff of annoyance and strode over to her closet where she grabbed a random outfit and retreated to the bathroom to change.

Alexander-or Alex, as she called him-was one of her closest friends that she made when she left for college. The pure bred youngest son of his wealthy family broke off from high society to follow his dream of being an artist. Even as a sophomore in college, he radiated class by his well-groomed appearance and bright hazel eyes. However, he was sometimes a little too overbearing when it came to Ib's clothing choices. For instance, he hated anything but bright, warm colors to be worn by her. Ironically enough, her favorite color was blue. The young woman didn't know why, from birth she was always dressed in white, red, and gold because of her crimson eyes and dark brown hair, yet she was always drawn to blue and silver attire.

Nevertheless, she pulled on her white v-neck shirt and fitted black jeans before throwing her hair up in a low bun and turning to the mirror. Once her face had been washed, teeth brushed, and light makeup applied Ib re-entered the main room of her apartment to find a certain ashy-blonde looking through the papers on her desk. "These are really good you know," He dragged his fingers across one water color painting of hers in particular, "Especially this one of the rose. I really like how you incorporated the three prime colors (1) into a black and white setting." He was referring to her most recent picture. It had been inspired by a dream that she couldn't recall when she had startled awake from it. At the time, she had woken in a cold sweat, trembling from head to toe, yet she had felt the overwhelming need to paint something at four in the morning.

That was how this particular painting came to be. It was mostly painted in different shades of gray, forming the image of a rose resting on a windowsill. However, the picture itself was not entirely black and white. The rose was a lively, beautiful, healthy blue that contrasted the rest of the dark background. It radiated its own light that rivaled the yellow ray of sunshine peeking through the window to frame it. The first two prime colors were easy to spot within the painting, but the third color-red-was missing. Upon a closer look at the rose, a tint of deep, vibrant red could be seen dripping from a thorn on the flower, as if someone had recently sliced their finger while holding the blue beauty.

"Red, yellow, and blue," Alex mused "What wonderful colors."

Ib whole-heartedly agreed, and before she could ask _exactly why_ the boy had been going through her private stuff without her permission, the said boy interrupted her with a yelp. "Gah! We're nearly late for class! Jeez Ib why do you take so long?" "Me? You have no right to talk Mr. I-refuse-to-leave-the-house-without-a-comb-in-my-pocket!" His face grew slightly pink and he didn't comment further as he dragged her out the door, a triumphant smirk on her face.

Alex droned on and on about anything and everything as they made their way from her apartment complex to the campus. Sure, he was one of her closest friends, but she just didn't understand where he got all that energy. The young woman often felt like a jaded adult in comparison to his childish vigor. Ironically, _he_ was the one that came to check up on her and nag her as a mother would her child. It seemed she always needed to be taken care of, at least that's what the spunky hazel-eyed man beside her told her often. Ib rolled this thought around in her mind a bit; it wasn't that she always needed to be taken care of-she could hold her own in a bad situation quite well-she just preferred to lean on someone, it was almost instinctual. The strong urge for a close companion she could rely on and trust was from growing up as an only child, she assumed.

"And _that's_ when he turned to _Jacob_, spouting nonsense-Ib? You still with me?" The ashy-blonde pulled her out of her own thoughts by waving a hand in front of her face. At her questioning look, he said "Jeez, what do you think about? It pulls you into this world that I can't even hope to reach you in." She knew he was partly joking-partly serious. Often getting lost in her own mind, she had sparked the young man's interest, giving him a curiosity for what exactly could drag her so far within herself that the world outside fades within her senses. However, his thirst would never be satisfied, for her thoughts were meant only for herself. "Com'on, we're already a bit late to class." Changing the subject, the red-eyed girl pulled her friend alongside her into the building just ahead of them.

When they entered, the strong smell of fresh paint and wet clay flooded her nose. The art building, or at least this particular room in it, was laid out like a warehouse. The students' desks were all facing toward the other end of the large room, which held a variety of easels and work stations, some still carrying work left to air-dry overnight. The shelves that lined the walls on the "industrial" side of the room were filled to the brim with tools and projects, both new and old. Other than the entrance, there were only two doors in the large room. One of these, marked with a neon 'EXIT' sign, served as the emergency exit if an accident were to happen. The other door led to the oven room, where the ceramic works of art could be fired in a kiln(2) before being completed.

The two students made their way to the desks closest too them, near the back, in attempt to not be noticed.

"For those students just walking in," The crimson-eyed girl and her friend flinched and grinned sheepishly, caught. "The still-life oil painting assignment will be put off until next week." Ib tilted her head curiously, wondering the reasons behind postponing the assignment for another two days. "This class will be accompanied by me as we go and visit an art gallery that has the possibility to be closed soon. The deceased artist who holds all of his work at this display is not very well known. However, his art is truly amazing and almost lifelike in its beauty." The teacher continued to ramble on the qualities that the art possessed until he caught himself. He then dismissed the class early, telling them to go home and research this hidden artist. He called out to the students as they made their way from the classroom,

"Tomorrow we will see firsthand how Guertena brings his art to life!"

* * *

(1) Prime colors- the base colors, yellow, red and blue that can create any color but no other color can be used to create them.

(2) A Kiln- an oven of sorts made for cooking molded clay so it's solidified together

**Disclaimer: Ib does not belong to me. **If it did there would be a sequel to it just like this.

**A.N.  
**Don't worry Alexander doesn't have _too_ major of a role. OCs are gross (at least when I try to use 'em) but I didn't have many choices. Bare with it for now.  
Gah I'm so sorry this is _much _later than I intended to update. Plan to be updating every week, no promises though.  
Hope you guys like this chapie, reviews are good for the soul.

~Scarlet


	3. Chapter 2

Ib: A Trail of Petals

Chapter 2: "In the early afternoon, under a gray sky…"

_Slam._

"Finally…" The brunette breathed out a sigh of relief. After returning to the apartment from a long day of classes, her loud-mouthed friend decided he'd stick around her apartment for the rest of the day_. 'More like lazy around_.' Ib thought to herself with a shake of her head. Even so, she had finally managed to shoo the young man off. Alexander was such a hassle sometimes.

The desire for her warm, fluffy bed washed over her mind and body. However, there was work to be done. The crimson-eyed girl let another sigh escape her as she proceeded to plan for the next day. There was much to be done; after all, her other courses won't ease their workload just because the art professor is taking them on a little field trip. She still had that criticism essay to write for speech, but really, why waste students' time with criticism of ancient politics? The young woman just didn't understand it, maybe it was an intellectual thing? She _was_ more geared for creative thinking after all.

Figuring it was best to get the writing out of the way first, she sat down at her desk and brought out a small stack of lined paper. The brunette always preferred to work with a pencil and paper, later transferring the written work onto a computer in the public library. Writing it directly on the computer was too risky, for Ib had seen many students lose their work to the unpredictable machines. She sat in her chair for some time, brainstorming on how to go about beginning the dreaded assignment. Eventually her mind wandered to a far place and her hand began sketching lightly on the paper in front of her.

The young woman often baffled people with her ability to escape into her own thoughts so quickly. Of course, Ib never meant any disrespect when zoning out in the middle of a conversation. She just seemed to wander off like a curious child, unawares of the situation around her. Her friends would sometimes joke that her mind didn't belong in this world, and her body was just trapped here. Alex would always warn her that someday her flighty thoughts would get her into trouble. However, the girl was quite confident in her ability to handle herself, and often dismissed the spunky young man's warnings for nagging.

A slight smile came to her face at the thought of her close friend. Sure, he was as bossy as her mother, but the boy had a good heart. He was lively and playful, bringing a smile to her face on bad days. Whenever she visited her parents on holidays, they always teased her that Alexander would serve as a perfect suitor. Ib wasn't blind to the younger boy's feelings, he had made them quite clear on several occasions. Yet she did not feel any sort of attraction toward him. Often times the young woman wished she could love him the way that he loves her, but her heart refused to cooperate. After almost a year of fighting this battle between her heart and mind, she began to see what Alex lacked as a partner. He was a great man, kindhearted and pure. Still, the dirty-blonde didn't radiate the warmth of anything more than a friend.

She needed someone who understood her inside and out. Someone who could love her with all of his soul, and could receive the same from her. Someone who could bring not only a smile to her face, but a giggle to her lips and heat to her cheeks. That warm fuzzy feeling of a first love still swells within her core, belonging to a face long swept away in her memory.

The feeling of warm liquid running down her cheek jarred the young woman from her thoughts. In reaching up to wipe the strange tear from her face, the pencil slipped out of her grasp, landing with a slight _tap _on the wood of her desk. The noise drew her crimson gaze toward the paper that was supposed to be her essay.

Instead she found a portrait of a man.

His shaggy hair and features were lightly sketched, giving them a soft glow. A sharp jawline was balanced with smoothed cheeks and hair to frame it, almost completely covering one eye. The curve of his nose traced down, leading to his delicate- almost womanly –lips. His mouth had a slight upturn, as if he was holding back a smile or just about to make one. But his _eyes. _Ib wondered how she could've accomplished such an image on lined paper with only a number two pencil. His slightly narrowed eyes held such emotion, it was almost overwhelming. They had such a depth to them, containing a breathtaking mixture of sadness and adoration. She longed to drown in them, to see their true color. She imagined they could be a lively green, adding even more life to his face with the playful color. Or perhaps they could be a sharp brown, strong and displaying an air of confidence that contrasted his expression. However, they could be _blue_.

The young woman released a quiet sigh.

If they were blue, they'd be deep and tinted with the purple of an amethyst. More purple than blue actually. They'd sparkle with delight and fill with tears; they'd just be so _real._

Ib stopped herself. What was she doing? Fawning over her sketch of an imaginary man? She needed sleep. The essay would have to wait until Sunday, tomorrow was Friday anyway, so she had the weekend to complete it. While she hated putting off work, this seemed to be the best solution. After all, she still had to clean the apartment, wash her face, get ready for bed, and then proceed to actually fall asleep. Pushing the sketched picture from her mind, she got up from her desk.

The apartment wasn't too big, so cleaning wouldn't be much of a problem. Just tidy up some papers here, clean some dishes there, and she was done. All the while she listened to one of her favorite songs play off of the mixed CD she made for herself a couple of years ago. It was a soft instrumental, mostly guitar strings strumming a light, warm tune.(1)

The weary young woman washed her face and brushed her teeth half-heartedly, for the day had drained her of energy. The warm water felt good splashing on her face, washing away the dirt and grime of the day. Looking up into the mirror above her sink, she locked a crimson gaze with her reflection. Something about mirrors has always unsettled her, as if when you stared into them, they were _staring right back_. Perhaps mirrors were self-conscious, and didn't like people looking at them all the time?

She splashed more water on her face.

'_You're going crazy, stupid girl.'_ Ib scolded herself. After drying her face and clearing her head, the brunette turned off the light in the bathroom, changed into her sleepwear, and climbed into bed. However, the second her head hit the pillow, the sat back up. The covers of the bed shifted loudly as she climbed back out of bed and headed for her desk. Once there, she slowly turned the sketch of the man with blue eyes face down. Her reasons were unknown, even to her. (2) Ib then returned to her comfy mattress and drifted off, the ever-so-slight scent of cigarette smoke lulling her to sleep.

* * *

She really needed a new alarm clock. Preferably one that wasn't blonde, loud, and _early_.

The young woman dragged herself out of her warm igloo made of sheets only to throw open her front door and place her hand on her friend's face. "Where's the snooze button on you?" She called out, eyes still closed and pinching his nose. "Haha very funny, now _let go of my face_." Alex grabbed her wrist in an effort to separate her palm and his face. Ib let out a laugh and retreated from her attack, opening her eyes to meet his grin with one of her own.

"Ugh Alex, I still have to shower and get ready before I cook breakfast." The dirty-blonde's grin widened into that of a young trouble maker's, "Then you better work quickly, or I'll cook for myself." They both shared a round of laughter, completely aware that Alex couldn't even boil water without causing a damaging explosion.

"Alright, alright, see you in a bit." The crimson-eyed girl grabbed an outfit from her wardrobe and headed into the bathroom to get ready for the day. Meanwhile, her dear friend thought it appropriate to snoop. After all, she was an extremely good artist and he loved to see her work, or so he told himself.

He made his way over to her desk and shifted through her works. The young man's admiration swelled at the amount of talent his friend had, if only she knew how good she really was. For instance, the picture of the rose on the windowsill was a beautiful use of opposites. Color verses Black and white, as well as simplicity verses complexity.(3) It was truly beautiful, just like it's maker.

Alexander spent a while looking through her artwork and admiring her creativity, until his eyes fell on a small piece of lined paper faced down on the top of her desk. Thinking it was just a scraped draft of an essay, he turned it over. Hazel eyes widened as he took in the drawing of a man.

It was lightly sketched, yet still done with delicacy and meaning. The whole picture seemed subtle, and yet, everything was offset by the man's eyes.

The orbs almost seemed as if they could blink, they were so lifelike. The spunky blonde had seen many works that portrayed emotion flawlessly, and this was one of the best. This unnamed man's eyes were actually able to contain and conceal emotion so beautifully that it was fascinating. Not only did the sketch spark a curiosity in Alex, but also a jealousy. Just who was this guy? How did Ib know him well enough to create such an amazing portrait of him?

Just as the dirty-blonde's mind began to jump to conclusions, the main point of interest exited the bathroom. She had already dressed and done her daily routine for getting ready, however today she wore a red pleated skirt, a slightly small white blouse, and a matching red necktie.

The boy's mind halted for a moment, before regaining enough function to complement the dazzling young woman in front of him. Nonetheless, as soon as she thanked him, his mind flew back to the paper in his hand. He needed to confront her, "Ib, who is this?" Her eyes widened slightly at the work that was currently facing her from her friend's hands. "It's no one," He didn't look convinced. "I'm serious, Alex. I just drew it when I was zoning while brainstorming for my paper." At his still slightly skeptical look, the brunette changed the subject, "You're hungry right? Let's have breakfast quickly so we don't have to rush down to the art building." His face broke into a grin, "Knowing you, we'll still be late no matter how fast we eat."

"You jerk!" Ib playfully punched her close friend's shoulder, succeeding in distracting him from the paper he had placed back on her desk. She then led him into the kitchen where they chatted and prepared breakfast for themselves.

* * *

They were late. _Again._

But really, what did she expect? She was always late, ever since she was a little girl. Ib would roam, whether in this world or in the world of her thoughts, and always get lost. Therefore, she was always late. But in this case _it wasn't her fault._ Her perfectionist of a friend ultimately decided _five minutes before they had to leave_ that her clothing was unacceptable. It was, according to him, childish for her age and outdated. Of course, stubborn Ib argued that she wore a similar outfit in her younger years and many said that it suited her.

"Yeah, when you were ten! Com'on Ib, dress like the proud twenty-year-old artist I know you are!" Ib pouted. "I was nine…" Alex brushed off her comment and forced her into the bathroom after they had chosen a different outfit. Thus her change of clothes into red skinny-jeans, black boots, a short-sleeved white blouse, and a red scarf made the pair of friends late for the bus.

Luckily, her art class was very small, and the teacher noticed the absence of two of his students. The old man was even kind enough to wait for the pair instead of leaving without them.

The two rushed onto the bus and sheepishly took their seats, well aware of the snickers from the other students around them. However, the art teacher didn't even turn his head as he revved up the old dinosaur of a bus and sped into the traffic of the freeway.

Chatter began the fill the vehicle as everyone grew comfortable and prepared for a lengthy ride. Alex decided to rave about another of his _oh-so-interesting_ stories, therefore Ib decided it was a good time to let her mind stray off it's path once more.

Looking up at the early afternoon's gray sky, she questioned quietly to herself, "Will it rain?" Confused, her blonde friend stopped his yapping to give her a questioning look. His mouth opened partially to reply, but before words could form on his lips, the teacher's voice rang out through the bus,

"We're on our way to the incredible world of Guertena!"

* * *

**Disclaimer: I do not own Ib. **Or else it would be an anime. Right now.

(1) - This piece of music is actually "Garry's theme" from the game, it will come up again later so remember that. Never heard the song? Type in the normal YouTube URL and add /watch?v=PhOc1GlOrqs

(2) - There is actually personal a story behind this, you'll have to review to find out.

(3) - The description of this work of art can be found in Chapter 1

... I owe some apologies.

I am so so so sorry for how late this is. I believed that I could keep up with it, I was _dead wrong. _However, I got some reviews! Yay! Thanks so much for your support guys and I'm very glad that you like my story. Every review counts!

I hope to get the next chapter up soon, but am I moving too fast with the story? let me know if there is not enough detail in the storyline. I'm always up for improvement. Oh and one last thing, anyone have any ideas for the name that I should give the teacher? Or shall he remain nameless? He is a man in his late 50s with a love for all things art. Lets hear some suggestions!

The review button sends me an inspiration cookie.

~Scarlet


	4. Chapter 3

Ib: A Trail of Petals

Chapter 3: "Welcome to the World of Guertena"

The old dinosaur of a bus screeched to a stop within the parking lot, jarring some of its sleeping passengers awake. The man driving the bus, the art professor, turned in his seat to yell backward to his students. "Don't forget any of your things on the bus. We will be briefed on the rules of the gallery once inside. Remember to be respectful!" Some of Ib's peers rolled their eyes at the old man, blowing him off for treating them like children. They were college students after all. However, the brunette just wanted to be off of the bus as soon as possible.

Earlier on in their trip to the art gallery, Alex had once again yanked the young woman out of her own thoughts in an attempt to converse with her. Normally, Ib wouldn't have minded, however her thoughts were not flighty when he interrupted. She had been analyzing the dream that had come to her a night ago; that same blurry dream that had haunted her thoughts for years. She drew lines in her mind, trying to connect the pieces of information she had gathered. This past visit to the gallery in her subconscious had been much different. The picture had begun to focus, but why?

Needless to say, she wasn't too happy when the spunky blonde broke her train of thought. After her attention shifted onto him, the young man remained silent for a bit, choosing his words.

"Who was that guy you drew earlier?" Her eye twitched, this again? "I told you Alex, I don't know. It was just a random sketch of a random man." She had hoped that the conversation was over, but the boy was persistent. "I guess he must have _really _caught your eye when you saw him then." Alex's tone was bitter, as was his laugh that followed. This annoyed Ib, making her temper rise slightly. "Just _let it go_ would you?" She huffed in frustration and turned her head once more toward the window in attempt to ignore the blonde beside her. "... So you talked to him then?" "Alex!" She was tired of his jealousy. He would always chase off any other suitor, immediately seeing them as a threat. Ib normally didn't mind, however she felt that he had no right to bash on someone neither of them even knew.

She glared at him seriously, catching the blond slightly off guard. However, his startled hazel eyes soon returned her glare with just as much force. "Why are you lying to me about this? Who is that gloomy guy to you?" He clearly didn't believe her, and it was pissing the young woman off. "I told you didn't I? I don't know him!" They were speaking loudly now, catching the attention of some other students on the bus. Normally it would have sparked no interest with their peers, however Ib and Alex rarely disagreed, much less argued. "Why are you defending someone you've _supposedly_ never met?" He was twisting her words now, making them turn against her, but the brunette would have none of it. "Why are you _insulting_ someone you've never met?" The bystanders on the bus were watching actively now, even muttering agreements from time to time.

"I'm trying to protect you! He-"

"You're trying to protect _yourself_!" She cut him off angrily.

Alex paused for a moment, letting her last comment sink in. He opened his mouth, ready for another round of comebacks, but quickly shut it when he realized that Ib was no longer beside him. The girl had left her seat and pushed herself to the end of the bus, where she promptly sat down. Her gaze traveled toward the window in an effort to ignore the stares of her friend and other intrigued onlookers. She crossed her arms stubbornly and remained like that for the rest of the trip to the art gallery.

So now as the bus struggled to a shaky stop, Ib made an effort to be the last one out; a task that wasn't too hard considering her positioning in the very back of the bus. She shuffled behind the last of the students exiting the vehicle, and managed to avoid Alex by sinking into the conversation of the group in front of her.

They weren't discussing anything of interest, just about some of the upcoming events planned by the sororities and fraternities. Ib was more of a helper than a planner, being responsible for the expectations of many people was too stressful. Nevertheless she participated in the discussion, throwing out creative ideas for the occasions.

Her engagement in the conversation left no room for Alex to approach her, while also distracting the young woman from his burning gaze lying on her back. However, the exchange didn't last long. The teacher had just finished taking role, and was now herding all of his students into the entrance of the art gallery.

Once passing through the double-doors, Ib took in the sight of the small lobby. It was obvious that the building was not meant to accommodate a large number of frequent visitors. She recalled her teacher mentioning that the rooms would be stripped of their artwork and the structure as well as the works within would be sold. This tugged at the brunette's heart. She hated to see old art galleries closed, even if the only creations it contained were of an uncommon artist.

Being an artist herself, she knows how much effort is put into each piece. While time is certainly dedicated to the work, it's the soul that really makes it a masterpiece. Every creation has a meaning, a purpose, and a life of its own. In many ways, art is alive. The colors used, and even the pressure of the paintbrush or pencil, speaks volumes of emotion from both the artist and the design that they are forming. The finished product carries a piece of its maker's heart, allowing it to shine through when others pause to admire. Each detail adds a thought, a thought that had been manifesting in the artist's mind before flowing through his veins and onto his work.

Whatever the form of art, the product tells a story. No one but the maker himself can fully interpret what his masterpiece truly depicts. Art is beauty in a materialistic embodiment. However, not all pieces are created with love and happiness. Many works of art hold dark intentions or desires of the artist. Hate, desire, jealousy, and sadness are only a few of the emotions concealed in the tones of these works. The stories told by each maker do not always have a happy ending.

Despite this, art is meant to be displayed, especially after the creator has passed. It keeps the artist's memories and feelings from departing along with his spirit, allowing him to leave his mark behind.

It was almost painful to gaze around the small gallery of works knowing that they would all be separated from eachother soon.

* * *

The teacher sternly lecturing the class about behavior of college art majors within the gallery brought Ib's attention away from her thoughts. Most of her fellow peers just shook their heads and endured the swift warning, quietly protesting that they weren't immature adolescence.

The focus of the young adults shifted to an elderly man who was currently welcoming them to the gallery. His eyes were clouded with the age shown by the valleys of wrinkles on his face. The silver strands of hair on his head only added to the appearance he sported with a clean-cut grey business suit and black steel-toed boots. The nametag pinned over his heart read "Gregory Donalds: Owner"

Gregory's ripened smile shone with happiness as he welcomed the youths into his beloved establishment. He assured the group that they will be free to roam the halls in just a moment, once all the formalities were finished.

"This gallery, due to its lack of frequent visitors and limited works, will soon be shut down and sold along with its pieces. It is saddening to see it go, but I hope you will all enjoy this visit to a true artist's memorial. And who knows," His all-knowing gaze shifted to Ib for a fraction of a second. It would have gone unnoticed had the young woman not made direct, meaningful eye contact. "you might find a piece of yourself within the wonderful works of Guertena." And with that, he dismissed the group of visitors to their own devices.

The brunette thought over the owner's strange sendoff as the group broke apart to explore. _'A piece of myself…?' _she shook her head in wonderment and decided to join the others in their discovery of the artworks.

Noticing that the majority of the students, including a certain blond sophomore, were making their way through the main room at the ground level, Ib decided to be adventurous and take the upper level for her study. It wasn't because she was avoiding a confrontation with a young man whom she was at a loss of how to deal with, she just preferred quiet contemplation of works.

Halfway up the white stairwell, the young woman stopped cold as déjà vu washed over her nerves. This layout and architecture, could it really be the same place that has haunted her sleep for eleven years? She could swear that the familiar tug could be weakly felt. However, this was not a dream, and everything within her eyesight could be seen without blur. "Then the painting…" Ib's breath caught in her throat as the words left her lips.

Immediately, her feet shot forward, carrying her up the remainder of the stairwell, skipping steps in her quickened pace. The brunette paused as she reached the top, taking a moment to observe the layout of the second floor within the gallery of Guertena. It was just as she remembered it, for she had seen it often enough in a blur.

Her heartbeat picked up, and pulsed through her ears as each placement of her foot carried her closer to her destination. When her steps ceased, her eyes remained glued to the floor, fearful of what she might find hanging on the wall.

The tugging in her gut was now very prominent and forceful, finally being enough to lift the young woman's crimson gaze to the painting. The sight stole the air from her lungs.

The hanged portrait was of a man, slouched against the wall. The only colors used were dark and cold, yet the man himself radiated some form of warmth and security. One leg was stretched straight out in front of him, while the other tucked inwards toward him, raising his knee to meet his chin. His right arm swung limply at his side and his left rested on his raised knee, blocking the view of his jaw and nose. He wore simple fitted khaki pants and a green-tinted wife beater. Long, yet slightly muscular arms were covered by a peculiar trench coat stretching to his ankles. The man's shaggy, un-kept hair hid the rest of his features, save for one eye peeking out behind his bangs.

A shiver of excitement ran through Ib as she held his violet stare. The depth of his orb held so much sadness and loneliness; it tugged at the strings in her heart. She was just waiting for the eye to blink, for the man to shift, for some sign of life. He looked so real, so full of emotion and soul.

Before the young woman could stop herself, her fingers were caressing the dried oil paint that formed the man's coat. Only it didn't feel like cold, dried brush strokes. The surface underneath her fingertips felt like the worn, soft, and warm fabric of a coat.

She snatched her hand back as if it was burned, and quickly read the name of the wondrous artwork.

"The Forgotten Portrait"

It flowed off her lips in a whisper, for her lungs felt constricted and empty of air.

As if she was hit by a truck, images flashed behind her eyelids. Colorful, fast, and confusing; they zoomed through her head. A few stood out in the chaos of her mind, one depicting the same man in the portrait, carrying a familiar looking girl on his back. He was sweating and stressed, obviously concerned for the youth who seemed unconscious. The shadows were giving chase, yet the man continued to run with all the energy he had.

Another image held only a view of a young girl's hand, cradling what looked like a small piece of hard candy. Her fingers were tense as she held the sweet, as if she was protecting a very important item.

Ib stumbled back into reality, losing her balance and landing on her bottom in the process. Her now focused gaze locked with the portrait in front of her once more. His eye had lost a touch of its loneliness, replaced with what almost looked like hope.

Frozen legs sprang to life and dragged her to her feet once more, before promptly taking off to the back of the second floor.

The brunette no longer knew what she was doing or why as she raced around the corner of the rear gallery display, only a name that continuously resonated through her fogged mind.

She skidded to a halt in front of a massive work of art. The panting took up the entire back wall, its mix of colors and patterns making the already dazed girl's eyes hurt. Her stomach was doing summersaults and her breathing was the only sound ringing throughout the gallery as she stared at the painting.

The nameplate inscription below what she assumed was Guertena's greatest work read 'Fabricated World'. Pure instinct drew the baffled young woman closer to the enchanting creation, the name ringing in her ears finally spilling from her lips.

"Garry…"

* * *

**Disclaimer: I do not, and will never own the game Ib. **But you all wish I did.

**A.N. **

Alright so I'm about an hour overdue but this is my Christmas gift to all of you! Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!

Your reviews made me so happy, they really do help with writing stories such as this. I'm glad you all like my writing style, I know it probably takes a little bit of time to get used to. I had a lot of trouble writing this chapter because I kept running into dead ends when trying to explain the connection of art and the soul of the artist. I hope it made sense and you all got the idea I was trying to convey.

I also hope to story is moving along well, I really don't want to go too fast through all of this. She doesn't remember everything right away, Ib just has a general idea that she's been here before and needs to find this "Garry" who won't get out of her head. Of course this make Alex a little jealous, just a bit.

In response to BlueRagdoll's question for the (2) in chapter two _[Refer to A.N. in Chapter 2]_,

Since I'm studying to be an artist, I often find my work half finished. I can't do it all in one day after all, so I have a habit of turning the artwork face-down before I go to bed. This way, I don't constantly see it whenever I walk in the room the next day. If I keep seeing it then I'll either grow tired of it, or I start to see un-fixable flaws within the work. So in a way, I'm saving my work until I have time to really sit down and work on it again. Thanks for asking!

**Please R&R, it feeds my brain inspiration cookies!**


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